Of Gravy and Grandmas
by Cherrie Keane
Summary: Richie hates Thanksgiving. Virgil hates it when his sister forgets the gravy.
1. Chapter 1

Hey hey! See, look, Im not dead! IM ALIIIVVVEEEEE. :D

This is for my love Krystal, and because its THANKSGIVING TOMORROW. This fic idea has been floating around in my head for a while, so I thought I should get it out in time for the holidays.

Ill post the next and final chapter tomorrow! In the mean time, Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Don't own Static Shock, so please don't sue me, thanks!

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><p>In retrospect, Richie thought pensively, he probably should not have called his grandmother an "insufferable hag".<p>

Even if that's what she was.

But still, it had been harsh. It was Thanksgiving, he should have behaved better. He reminded himself that it was not the holiday that upset him, just the people he had to constantly spend it with.

The blonde boy sighed, and swung his legs over the edge of the worn wood plank of the dock. The wood was soft, and slightly damp from the constant contact of lake Onalaska. The air smelled salty, not unlike the ocean, thought Richie knew that Onalaska was a manmade lake. He could hear the water below him slosh against the wooden dock underneath him. In the distance a boat had pulled out of the harbor and was making its way to the other side of the huge lake.

He wished his Nana liked him the way he was.

He looked above him. The sky was a bright blue, the clouds were wispy strands of white scattered about within it. The sun was out, shining diligently, even though it was not enough to overpower the November chill in the air. Still, it was about 3 o clock, so the sun was high in the sky and it warmed Richie's face. He took off his glasses and the world went a little bit blurrier.

He closed his eyes and breathed in, feeling the chilly breeze around him and filling his lungs with the salty spray of the water.

His stomach growled.

He was really hungry.

Richie opened his eyes and looked down at his stomach, as if he couldn't understand the phenomenon of hunger. But after reminding himself that he _had_ stormed out of the house before his mother had even managed to carve the Thanksgiving turkey, he found that he was no longer surprised. He had not eaten anything all day.

He wondered for a second if what he had done, was worth it?

When he got home later, his hunger would be the _last _of his problems. His father would be furious. His mom would be too, she had warned him about what he might face today.

Richie thought about his mother, what she had said to him when he was in the kitchen with her earlier.

"Sweetie, you know your father and I love you, right? We love you for who you are."

"…._mom_."

"And that your father loves his mother, and that he doesn't like giving her a hard time."

"_Mom."_

"And you know how uncomfortable for your father it would be to have to talk to his mother about how you are a homosexual, and that the people closest to this family are black and how I am not a natural red head."

"_Mom!"_

Richie tried not to laugh at his mother's pathetic attempt at a pep talk.

It was Maggie's annual 'rallying cry' for the arrival of his grandmother. His father was at the train station, probably on the way back by now actually, picking up his Nana Charlotte. This year, like every year, she wanted to ready Richie for his Grandmothers annual Thanksgiving visit, which he made plain that he hated with a passion.

Of course, this year, his mother had added in the snippet about Richie's sexuality, since he had come out 8 months ago, and word travels fast in the Foley family. Still, his parents weren't ashamed, nor were they unaccepting.

He just wished his grandmother could be that way.

But really, his grandmother had never been happy with him, even before he admitted that he was gay. She thought he was too skinny, to nerdy, too this, too that, not enough girlfriends, 'why don't you play any sports dick?', and _of course_ her refusal to call him Richie, or even Richard. She was a nightmare.

And every year for Thanksgiving, she graced them with her presence. And every year Richie had to endure her loud chewing and even louder criticism. Not to mention that he had to hide the fact that his best friend was African American, so a lot of the pictures with Virgil or Robert (who, under strange and wonderful circumstances, had become good friends with Sean Foley. ) in them were removed.

"It doesn't matter mom. I still hate her." Richie said moodily as he folded a napkin on the kitchen counter.

His mother stopped stirring the gravy in the pot and fixed an icy glare on her son. "Richard Osgood Foley, you do NOT hate your grandmother." Richie refused to look at her.

Maggie sighed and reached forward, across the kitchen counter. She took her sons face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. His face was warm.

"When did my baby boy ever grow up to be so hateful? This isn't the son I had yesterday. Where did he go? Sir, could you direct me to my son? He's blonde, wears glasses, has no luck what-so-ever of growing facial hair, and doesn't hate his own grandmother."

Richie tried not to smile, but he lost that battle with himself. He felt the corners of his mouth turn upward, and his glasses rise with his cheeks.

"That's my boy." Said Maggie, leaning up and kissing Richie's forehead. Usually, Richie hated her random bouts of tenderness towards him; he felt that she was coddling him, he was 18 years old, in his last year of highschool, and she still called him her baby boy.

But sometimes, and these times were more accepted when his father wasn't around, he didn't mind.

Maggie released him, but did not take her gaze from him. "You can tolerate her for one day Richie. Yes, she will call you Dick, and she will ask where all your girlfriends are, and talk about how much better your father was when he was your age, but then she will be gone in the morning and none of it will matter." And with that, she went back to her gravy, which seemed to have halted boiling just so she could have a moment with her son. After a moment of inspection, she picked up two gravy packets set to the side and handed them to Richie.

"I guess I really _did_ buy too much. Put those in the pantry will you hon?"

Richie nodded, putting them in his pocket. He would put them away when he was done folding the napkins. He picked one up and fingered the lacy edges.

"You know, your grandma gave me those napkins when me and your father were married." Said Maggie, not looking up from her gravy.

"No wonder they are so hideous." Said Richie, pulling a face as he folded the one in his hand. Maggie laughed.

"She is old Richie, and your father loves her. I doubt we have many more thanksgivings with her left. He just doesn't have the heart to fight with her about things that she doesn't understand." She said, redirecting the subject to what she knew was really on Richie's mind.

Richie's smile faded a bit.

He was gay, and he was best friends with a black kid; both things his Nana thought to be sins in the same league as murder and voting democrat. He saw so much of his grandmother in his father, but at the same time, so little.

Unlike Nana Charlotte, Sean Foley loved Richie more than he loved his own opinions, and though he did not always see eye to eye with his son about his life choices, he would always, _always_, choose his relationship with Richie above everything else.

He accepted that his son was gay. He accepted who his son hung out with. In fact, with time, he learned to more than accept, and embrace, rather than shun. Richie's relationship with his father was complicated but Sean loved his son, and worked hard to try to be as cooperative with Richie as he possibly could.

This was something that Richies grandmother would never do.

Sean Foley had grown more in the past few years than he had in most of his adult life. He just had a hard time keeping up with his new outlook on life in front of his mother's antiquated sense of right and wrong.

And though it annoyed Richie to deal with his father's hastily changing the subject anytime that his mother's comments got out of line, Richie was at least thankful that his dad didn't _agree_ with the awful things she said. That was something, at least.

Somewhere in the distance, a ship horn rattled the still air, bringing Richie out of his daydreams from this morning.

He looked toward his knees, saw the water 7 or 8 feet below him.

Part of him wished he had listened to his mother, changed the subject hastily like his father, and eaten his mashed potatoes in silence. That part of him regretted the things he said in anger, regretted the dirty looks and the napkin that was thrown. He wished that he hadn't looked to his mother and father for backup, only to be greeted by their stunned faces.

The other part of him was happy to know that his grandmother knew what he_ really_ thought of her, and he smiled as he remembered the look of angry surprise on her face as he left, as if he had reached across the finely set table slapped her clear across her wrinkly face.

And another small part of him wished that he actually had.

He felt the corners of his mouth rise and fall like the waves below.


	2. Chapter 2

Alright, second and final Chapter! I missed kick-off to write this, so I hope it was worth it! Enjoy everyone, and happy thanksgiving!

Disclaimer: I don't own static shock, but for the people that DO own it, hey, how come we never got a thanksgiving episode? That aint right!

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><p>"How are you gonna have Thanksgiving and no gravy!"<p>

"Well here is a thought Virgil, if you don't like the way I make dinner_, then you can make your own da-_"

"That is _enough you two!"_

This was the scene at the Hawkins home about an hour ago. The whole house smelled delicious, a divine mixture of savory casseroles and vegetables, macaroni and cheese roasting in the oven, mashed potatoes steaming on the stove, apple and pumpkin pies set to cool in the open window sill, and of course, a large turkey set on the counter ready for baking.

The only thing missing was the gravy!

It was Robert's voice that broke up the fight.

Robert walked into the kitchen and gave his children icy glares. At the stove, Grandma Nora laughed audibly.

"Oh Robert, I remember you and _your_ sister used to do the same thing." Grandma Nora turned to Virgil and Sharon and winked. "One year, Robert even threw mashed potatoes and Rochelle because she wanted the first slice of pie!" Virgil and Sharon laughed.

Grandma Nora smiled at her family. She was a small, stooped woman, with a kind face and wrinkled, warn hands. Her hair was salt and pepper, tied up into a loose bun. She wore a bright yellow apron that was perfectly clean, despite her having made just about everything in the kitchen. Sharon was only in charge of the green bean casserole, a dish that Virgil would never admit that he actually enjoyed.

"I…don't recall that _particular _incident" Robert said, but he chuckled warmly, giving himself away that he _had_ remembered that particular incident. He would probably mention it later when he called Rochelle to say happy thanksgiving.

Virgil and Sharon looked at each other between their snickers and Virgil stuck his tongue out momentarily. Sharon, for her part, shook the mashed potato spoon at Virgil, dropping bits of potato on the floor. Then she was laughing even harder, and Virgil couldn't help but join in.

"Now that's better." Said Nora smiling and turning back to the stuffing. "Virgil baby, why don't you go to the store and get us some gravy, hmm? I musta forgot it when we went shoppin yesterday." She gave him a toothy smile, one that had some magical grandmother power to make the idea of scouring Dakota for some gravy mix on thanksgiving day sound like a good one.

So, adorned with some money from Robert and his bike, Virgil set out to find somewhere that was still open that sold gravy. How hard could that be? He would be home before the Detroit Lions could even kick off.

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><p>Okay, so, maybe, this wasn't the very best idea on the planet. Maybe.<p>

Who was he kidding? Finding even one packet of gravy would be impossible. It had been about one hour and 6 stores since he had left the house, and he was empty handed. Actually a few sales associates had laughed at him when he asked where they hid their gravy. One woman actually just shook her head and walked away.

But he refused to return home empty handed.

He also refused to have to deal with Sharon's smug smile when he came home with no gravy and an hour late.

So he had decided that he would take a shortcut through the docks. It was a strange shortcut, seeing as he had quite a...colorful history with this part of town, but it also saved him a lot of time. There were no cars or pedestrians to avoid in the empty pier, and Virgil liked the smell of the salt from lake Onalaska. Plus, this was the easiest way to the only Wal-Mart in Dakota. They _had_ to have some gravy.

Maybe.

Virgil also liked taking this back way because he had a chance to use his powers to manipulate the metal in his bike to make it ride unnaturally fast with little to no pedaling. He could hear his electrical field crackle against his bike spokes as the wind whipped his dreads back. It was almost like flying.

He slowed down in order to turn a corner and saw someone sitting alone on the docks. They were wearing an overly large green and orange hoodie. For a second, Virgil thought vaguely of his friend Richie, and how he was going to call him later tonight to tell him happy thanksgiving and let him know that some poor soul had purchased the same outdated jacket as him.

It was only then that he saw blonde hair ruffle in the breeze and a pair of glasses set to the side of the docks.

"Richie?" Virgil said to himself.

He slowed his bike to a halt, dismounted, and wheeled it to the beginning of the wooden docks. After a moment of hesitation, he jolted his kickstand into place and decided to walk the remaining distance between the two of them.

Richie didn't hear Virgil coming until he was halfway there. He didn't turn around when he _did_ hear someone approaching him though; he just spoke in an annoyed voice over his shoulder.

"If you are going to try and mug me, I must warn you, I'm broker than the toothfairy in a retirement home."

"Oh man, I am going to have to use that one."

Richie whipped around. He could recognize Virgil's voice from anywhere. And there he was. Even without his glasses, Richie could see Virgil's dreads were messy, his shirt had a rip in the bottom that Richie knew that Virgil didn't care about because this was his favorite shirt, and his sweats were a bit baggier than usual. He also had on a grin the size of Lake Onalaska.

And he was the most beautiful thing Richie had seen all day.

Well, almost. He reached for his glasses and put them on his face.

Ah,_ that's_ the ticket.

"What…what are you doin out here man?" Said Richie, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

"I could ask you the same thing." Said Virgil, kneeling down and sitting in the space next to Richie, though he did not dangle his legs over the dock like Richie had. Virgil had a thing with water. Instead, he sat Indian style and smiled to his companion. Richie sighed and smiled back; keeping secrets from Virgil was impossible.

So he explained what had happened. He talked about his grandmother's rude remarks, his parent's speechless faces, and his storming out of the house. At the end of his story, he just turned to look at his best friend.

"I'm an idiot man. A first class idiot. I am going to be dead when I get home."

Virgil shrugged. "Ok, so you're an idiot. Your cursed out your own grandma, and your dad is gonna blow a gasket when you get home. "

"Gee, thanks man." Richie said rolling his eyes.

"_But, _you stood up for yourself. And now you don't have to sit through 8 hours of verbal B.S. Hell, now you don't even have to sit through your yearly game of _boggle_." Virgil said optimistically, remembering how much Richie hated boggle.

Richie smiled and rolled his eyes once more. "You're not making me feel any better." He pretended to whine. But Virgil just laughed and nudged his friend in the side.

"Come on man. Like staying out here all night was gonna make you feel any better." Virgil pulled a serious face and a deep voice that was nothing like Richie's. "Hello, I'm Richie, and I'm going to stay out here and brood forever. FOREVER." He looked over at Richie to see if he was laughing.

And he was, the corners of his mouth betraying him and sending loose his embarrassingly goofy laugh. Virgil's smiled widened.

Then he got up from the damp wood and brushed off his knees. He looked down at Richie. "So, you coming?" He asked, holding out a hand.

"Coming where?" Said Richie, taking Virgil's hand, though his question had yet to have been answered.

"My place. My grandma always has room for one more. And, uh," Virgil looked away and scratched the back of his head, suddenly shy. "I uh, felt like we were missing more than gravy today. I just couldn't put my finger on what it was until just now I guess. "

Virgil looked forward at his best friend. He chanced at a pathetic smile for a second, hoping it would convince Richie to stay with him.

But Richie needed no convincing. Everything that had happened today seemed miles away, insignificant, compared to the smiling boy in front of him. It was as if Thanksgiving was the most glorious holiday in all existence and the Detroit Lions were actually going to win this year. He didn't even care that somewhere in this city his father was probably adding Richie's name to the 'people who are gonna get it when they get home' list.

But through what he was _sure_ was a ridiculous smile showing on his face, he was suddenly stuck with an idea.

"Did I hear you say that you were looking for gravy?" Said Richie, placing his hand in his pocket and rummaging for a sec.

"Yeah man, but this entire city has been picked clean. I've been out for an hour already and—" But Virgil was instantly silenced by what Richie had pulled from his hoodie.

Two perfect packets of instant gravy sat in Richie's hands, the very ones that he had forgotten to put in the pantry earlier. Virgil could swear that he could hear an angelic chorus somewhere in the distance.

"Happy Thanksgiving? " Said Richie, trying to hold back his chuckles in response to Virgil's dumbstruck face.

"Well I'll be damned." Virgil said incredulously.

Richie scoffed. "Yeah, you _will_ be if you make your pops wait any longer for dinner," Richie placed the gravy back in his pockets and walked ahead towards Virgil's bike. "All because of some_ gravy_."

Virgil laughed and ran to catch up.

"Come on man, you have to admit, gravy is pretty important."

And at that particular moment, Richie saw no reason not to agree with his best friend.


End file.
